My cat eyes the vacuum cleaner like it’s a waiver of her serenity.
human_esque
You always stand at the edge, swaying back and forth. What would it take for your heels to go past the line, to finally step over instead of tiptoeing up to it? When are you going to finally leave the sidelines and play?
she signed the waiver. a jury would not be kind to her. not in this situation. no, best to take chances with the judge on his own. he was kind. he was good. he was special, in his own way. he never told her no, not for anything. she would win this one for certain.
Hayley
I wonder how much weird stuff I’ve agreed to over the years. They drown you in minutiae and legalese until you just give up. One day someone will show up at my door and say “here is the abandoned child you agreed to care for in 2013 in clause 438a section 8 of the instagram terms and services”
trampoline parks, climbing gyms, bungee bridges. they’re basically saying, kid, good chance yer gonna die today…
arlo
like ancient
scripts
scrolled in
our
souls
remind us
of the
contradictions
that
shape
us
Em
I signed a waiver. Too fast. I thought. Then I knew. What could be taking so long? It was then I knew why I thought it was too fast: I’d forgotten to read the title. This wasn’t the waiver to the field trip.
My cat eyes the vacuum cleaner like it’s a waiver of her serenity.
You always stand at the edge, swaying back and forth. What would it take for your heels to go past the line, to finally step over instead of tiptoeing up to it? When are you going to finally leave the sidelines and play?
across the canvas of reality, waivers paint silent stanzas, reflecting the price we pay for the reckless freedom to feel..
she signed the waiver. a jury would not be kind to her. not in this situation. no, best to take chances with the judge on his own. he was kind. he was good. he was special, in his own way. he never told her no, not for anything. she would win this one for certain.
I wonder how much weird stuff I’ve agreed to over the years. They drown you in minutiae and legalese until you just give up. One day someone will show up at my door and say “here is the abandoned child you agreed to care for in 2013 in clause 438a section 8 of the instagram terms and services”
an acknowledgment of the harmonious chaos, and yet, undeterred in our dance
trampoline parks, climbing gyms, bungee bridges. they’re basically saying, kid, good chance yer gonna die today…
like ancient
scripts
scrolled in
our
souls
remind us
of the
contradictions
that
shape
us
I signed a waiver. Too fast. I thought. Then I knew. What could be taking so long? It was then I knew why I thought it was too fast: I’d forgotten to read the title. This wasn’t the waiver to the field trip.